To hear of God the Father, of Christ the Saviour, of the Holy Ghost the Comforter—was to her thirsting and fainting spirit the very water of life.
She followed where her pastor led—she sought the Saviour and found Him not far off. Here Margaret received her first deep religious impressions—impressions that not all the stormy waves that dashed over her after-life were able to efface. In religion she found her greatest, her sweetest, her only all-sufficient comfort. So it was in following the strong attractions of her spirit that Margaret gradually advanced until she became a fervent Christian.
It was on Monday of the third week of Margaret’s visit that, just at sunset, Mr. Helmstedt arrived at Plover’s Point. And, reader, if you had been, however justly, angry with Philip Helmstedt, you must still have forgiven him that day, before the woe that was stamped upon his brow.
His innocent daughter’s tempestuous sobs and tears had been healthful and refreshing compared to the silent, dry, acrid, burning and consuming grief that preyed upon the heart and conscience of this stricken and remorseful man. Scarcely waiting to return the greeting of the doctor and his family, Mr. Helmstedt, in a deep, husky voice, whispered to his daughter:
“Come, Margaret, show me where they have laid her.”
She arose and went before, he following, through the deep woods, down beside the grassy grave.
“Here is her resting place, my father.”
“Go and leave me here, my girl.”
“But, my father——”
“Obey me, Margaret.”